


Touched Your Hair and Felt Myself Burn

by knightinmourning



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Character Study, Gen, M/M, Mention of sex, No Sex, Relationship Study, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-23 16:58:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinmourning/pseuds/knightinmourning
Summary: Angels don't touch.Which is a problem, because it's the one thing Aziraphale craves more than anything.





	1. Chapter 1

Angels don’t touch.  
  
Aziraphale doesn’t think it’s a rule, per se, but it would certainly be frowned upon to, say, walk up and give Gabriel a hug.

Or Michael. Or Uriel. Or…

Well, you get the point.

The problem is, he wants it.

He’s not sure why, exactly. Angels don’t crave food, they don’t need water, they have no want for sex. Aziraphale thinks that most, if not all, of the other angels are fine without touch. He suspects it might just be him, and he’s not really sure what to do about it besides push it away.

It’s not like anyone would understand, if he tried to explain it.

The problem with craving something, really craving it, is that if you ignore it, the craving doesn’t go away, it gets stronger. And when you’re an angel, that craving lingers and grows not just for days or weeks, but for years. Millennia.

Once, when they were fighting a war against Hell, Aziraphale had reached out and grasped one of his fellow soldiers, pulling her away from a pit of hellfire that certainly would have destroyed her. It was months before the sensation, almost painful against his being, finally subsided. In the meantime, his fingers, discorporated as they were, tingled with the burning sensation of touch.

Or what touch would have been, if he had a physical body.

He wondered, of course, what that would be like. To touch someone, anyone, and have flesh meet flesh, instead of his divine energy reaching out to another angel’s energy.

Would it be as electric? As powerful?

It was no wonder, when the opportunity came up, he took a position that required him to be corporeal. Stationed on Earth, he hoped he might one day experience the sensations he couldn’t get out of his head. But even there, it was lonely. Adam and Eve had each other, and though they were lovely people, he found himself not particularly interested in humans. The other corporated angels stuck to their stations in the garden and Aziraphale only saw them occasionally for meetings and check-ins.

They were there for years, and Aziraphale came to accept that perhaps some things were never to be. Well, at least some of the animals were nice, and let him pet them sometimes.

And then along came the snake.

Who wouldn’t let Aziraphale touch him.

Aziraphale was okay with that. Of course he was, he didn’t want to intrude upon anyone, even a snake. It had a weird energy about it, anyway, and he thought maybe he should stay away from it.

Except that snake ended up being a demon. A beautiful demon.

And Aziraphale had never felt such an intense longing to touch a specific person in his entire existence. To caress his hands, to massage his shoulders, to wrap his arms around him. To have the demon’s arms wrapped around him.

What could possibly be worse than an angel craving touch? An angel craving the touch of a demon.

God save him.

* * *

  
Crawley sticks around, and becomes Crowley, and the two of them become…

“Friends” isn’t the right word.

They’ve struck an accord, and sometimes they enjoy each other’s company over a few bottles of wine or a nice meal.

When Crowley has a bad day, Aziraphale gets him a new plant. When Aziraphale has one, Crowley shows up with crepes and a new book. Something old, and first edition, that Aziraphale has been wanting for years.

Well, okay, maybe “friends” is the right word.

Regardless, they don’t touch. Not much, at least. And never skin-to-skin.

Decades become centuries become millennia, and Crowley is the one constant in Aziraphale’s immortal, Earth-bound life. They perform each other’s work sometimes, celebrate each other’s successes and failures, and spend more time together than is strictly considered appropriate, at least from the perspective of their respective superiors.

As a result, they take great care to avoid compromising positions in public, on the off-chance another angel or demon catches them. Everything is strictly and intentionally hands-off, for their own safety.

For Crowley’s safety.

That’s really what it comes down to. Sure, Aziraphale doesn’t want to fall, but falling is just changing sides, really. And Crowley’s there, so it wouldn’t be all bad. But Hell doesn’t look as kindly at fraternizing with the enemy, and Aziraphale knows exactly what the ‘bath in holy water’ sentence would mean for his best friend.

So they stay at arm’s length, and Aziraphale tries to keep his preoccupation with Crowley’s hands to himself.

They really are incredible, though. Long and thin and powerful and gentle, most of the time. Even when Crowley manhandles him - which has happened on more than one occasion, now, Aziraphale notes - there’s always a gentleness to it. Does it mean that Crowley feels the same that he does?

They don’t talk about it.

* * *

The apocalypse is nearly averted, and there’s just one last prophecy to see through.

Aziraphale and Crowley need to switch faces. Need to become each other, to each save the other from certain death.

“I’ve never done anything like this before. When an angel is assigned a body, we’re expected to stay in it, no switching. Do you know how to do it?”

Crowley had that smile on his face, the one that Aziraphale knew meant he was up to mischief. “Course I do. Child’s play. Take my hand.”

The result was something that Aziraphale could never have imagined. Switching, in and of itself, wasn’t particularly uncomfortable, just a tingling sensation similar to when he originally received his body.

But the touch. The touch.

He could die, he really, really could. There was just something so right about it, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but shudder slightly at it, wanting more so badly his entire body ached.

When he looked up at his own face on Crowley, it wore that same, mischievous smile. “Like that, do you Angel?”

“I, um-”

“We survive this, and there’ll be a lot more where that came from.”

That promise was what Crowley left him with, as he went to Hell and Crowley went to Heaven and they showed both sides that they were their own side now.

Aziraphale and Crowley against the whole of the universe.

Well, they’d done more ridiculous things in the past. Probably. It didn’t matter though, because the two of them ended up back on Earth. Together and alone.

The minute they made it back to Crowley’s apartment, back in their own bodies, Aziraphale felt long, thin arms wrap around him from behind and a chin press against the top of his head. Thousands of years worth of tension washed away in a moment, and even as Aziraphale felt himself relax, he felt himself shivering as well.

“Whoa, hey, you okay?” Crowley asked, drawing away. He shifted Aziraphale so they were facing, Crowley’s fingers still wrapped around his biceps.

“Huh? Yeah. I- I’m sorry. It’s hard to explain. ‘s nice.” Aziraphale could hear himself slur the words, but wasn’t quite sure why, beyond that he felt like he’d drunk five bottles of wine.

There was no sobering up from this, though. No way to give back what Crowley had given him.

Not that he wanted to. But he did want to return the gesture.

The end result was something of a blur, but he knew he ended up hitting Crowley with such force that they both ended up in a pile of limbs on the couch. It felt brand new, and if Aziraphale had taken a moment to consider it, he’d probably realize that it genuinely had never been sat upon. That would change fast, if Aziraphale had any say in it.

It took several moments to sort themselves out. Crowley ended up sprawled across half the couch, Aziraphale’s torso pressed against his and their fingers entwined over the angel’s stomach.

Aziraphale was nothing sort of a puddle against him, the only thing stopping him from purring was that his human form didn’t come with the ability.

“Oh, Angel. You should have told me.”

“Never found the chance. Didn’t want to risk it.”

“Well, now I know what to get you when the crepe place is closed.”

“Mmmmm.”

Crowley wouldn’t admit that he felt it, too. The comfort and joy and deep friendship between them that made him feel safe and warm and protected in a way he’d never felt before Aziraphale. Not in Heaven, and definitely not in Hell. And now he had it all to himself.

Or, at least, he and Aziraphale had it together. The two of them against the universe. Just as it should be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Companion to _Touched Your Hair_ from Crowley's perspective.

Angels don’t touch.

Crowley knows this. He was an angel once. And now that he’s a demon, he’s had a chance to sit back and really understand it.

It’s because of the big block of nonsense rules they have to follow, he thinks. They don’t love, either, not because they can’t but because loving is the quick route to falling. The list of angels who have fallen because they loved is, Crowley’s sure, well over ten feet long by now.

Which means, by extension, that demons  _ do _ touch. And also fall in love.

The love gets corrupted usually, somewhere along the way, but that urge to touch is still there. A slap on the back among colleagues, jostled ambling around the hallways. A particularly small and toothy demon even  _ bit _ Crowley a while back, when Crowley said something offhand he didn’t like.

So when Crowley finally meets this new angel and stands under his wing, he’s very careful not to touch.

He doesn’t want to spook him, doesn’t want this curious being to flee from whatever  _ this  _ is.

Crowley wonders if maybe he had known this angel  _ before _ , he wouldn’t have fallen. Maybe, if things had turned out differently, they would have been friends.

More likely, he would have dragged him down, too.

Instead, Crowley takes his time. 

In the very beginning, when Crowley is in snake form full time, he stays away from the angel for the most part. Watches as he sits in the Garden, “guarding” the East Gate. And instead spends nearly all his time playing with the animals and caring for the plants. Crowley lounges in the sun nearby, when he’s not off tempting Humanity, enjoying the peace and quiet of the garden.

_ After _ , things change. They go their separate ways for a while, but they keep running into each other. Every time, Crowley is puzzled and enthralled by this curious being, and finds himself drawn to him a little more. Even when they don’t see each other for long periods, Crowley feels happy and settled in a way he never has before. He has a friend now, and even if that friend is a bit odd and aloof at times, he’s far better company than any demon Crowley’s ever met.

(Crowley would be the first to admit that he’s odd and aloof at times, too, so as far as he’s concerned, they’re a perfect pair.)

He also doesn’t think Aziraphale considers them  _ friends _ , but he’s sure the angel will come around eventually. They have all the time in the universe together.

By the time the French Revolution has come around, Crowley’s positively itching to show Aziraphale all the wonders of the universe, to give him all the nice food and old books he could ever want, and to wrap him up in his arms and never let go.

To show him that he’s safe. Safe from Heaven and Hell and everything in between.

Not that Aziraphale is weak or needs to be protected. He was quite a force with that flaming sword, and Crowley is sure that if he’s pushed enough, he could do quite a bit of damage.

The thing is, Crowley suspects that perhaps Aziraphale wants touch, but isn’t quite sure how to ask for it. He always gets so flustered when Crowley gives him things, or does things for him, that he very rarely  _ asks _ Crowley for anything, and when he does, it’s always within the boundaries he’s very carefully created for himself.

An invite to dinner? Fine.

A trip to Africa to see the giraffes and watch the sunset and reminisce about old times? Totally acceptable.

A hug? Nope, no, never. Wouldn’t dare.

He also doesn’t tend to ask Crowley for help. It’s often a fight to get him to accept it if it’s offered. Which is how Crowley knows that this is all about those blessed angels and their rules, and not anything to do with what Aziraphale thinks of Crowley personally.

When he does accept the help or the gifts or the basic kindnesses Crowley extends to him, he’s always so grateful, so overwhelmed by it, that Crowley always takes a moment to curse all of Heaven for the way they’ve treated His Angel. Demons are a horrible group of monsters, but Crowley has never worried about being too friendly or too accepting around them. Not like that.

(Besides, being friendly or accepting around a demon is a surefire way to make them uncomfortable, so Crowley likes to make a game of it.)

So Crowley keeps his distance from Aziraphale, for the most part. As time goes on, he slips sometimes, a product of being entirely too comfortable with touch, and with being used to physically intimidating people to get what he wants. He’s never hit Aziraphale and never would, but he doesn’t hesitate to grab him and move him, press him into a wall, or settle a hand on his shoulder.

Always through clothes. Always gentle. Always brief.

It doesn’t matter, of course. Aziraphale still looks startled whenever Crowley does it. Sometimes he jumps or flinches, pulling away before he totally knows what’s going on. Others, he just freezes, his eyes on Crowley both like he’s reading his mind and also like he staring directly through him, lost in thoughts or feelings that he can’t yet put into words.

This is how things continue for  _ centuries _ , and Crowley wouldn’t be lying if he said that if their relationship stayed the way it was for the rest of eternity, he would still be as overjoyed to love His Angel in whatever way worked for him.

But it doesn’t. It changes. So fast Crowley can only barely believe it when he sees it. They have to switch faces. The easiest way to do this involves holding hands.

No wonder Aziraphale doesn’t know how to do it.

They don’t have much of a choice; it’s either switch bodies and take each other’s places or die horrible deaths at the hands of their own sides. So Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hand, gripping it with some weight, but not enough to hurt.

The look on Aziraphale’s face in that moment is  _ right _ . It’s happy and content and calm and relaxed and everything else  _ good _ that makes Crowley’s skin crawl but he loves to see Aziraphale enjoying.

“We survive this, and there’ll be a lot more where that came from.”

He’s not kidding, either, and when he finally, for the first time in 6000 years, gets His Angel in his hands, holds him against his chest, and feels him relax and settle, Crowley promises himself that Aziraphale will never, for the rest of their existence, be in want of a hug.

***

In the days that follow, Crowley and Aziraphale enjoy the quiet of being free. Free from Heaven and Hell and the Great Plan.

Occasionally, Aziraphale points out that they are still, technically, bound by the Ineffable Plan, but when he does, Crowley always pulls him to his side and presses his lips to the angel’s head. If God intended for all of this to happen, for the two of them to be together as friends and partners, then he supposes he can let the Ineffable Plan slide this time.

Crowley knows it will take time for Aziraphale to get used to touch, to not immediately pull away from Crowley, in public or private, and he makes it his duty to figure out what the angel likes. The body what was assigned to him is ticklish, apparently, and he quickly learns stomachs are off limits, but Aziraphale loves an arm around his shoulders, a massage after a hard day, a full body cuddle in bed.

One day, many months after the failed apocalypse, Crowley figures it’s time to actually talk about something. Aziraphale has grown so much more comfortable since the first time, and while Crowley has no particular  _ need _ to take things further than they currently are, he wants to make sure, with absolute certainty, that Aziraphale doesn’t either.

_ My Angel will want for nothing _ .

“So, uh, Angel…”

“Yes, dear?” Aziraphale looked up from his book, and Crowley was faced with the expression he’d loved since their first conversation. Attention fully on Crowley, Aziraphale sipped from his tea as he waited patiently for him to continue. 

This was Crowley’s chance.  _ Just say it. Just get it out. Explain what you’re thinking and why you’re thinking it and he won’t freak out and then you can go on with your life and -  _ “Do you want to have sex?”

“...Pardon?” If Aziraphale’s eyebrows were any higher they’d be off their head. A quick miracle on Crowley’s part returned the teacup from Aziraphale’s hands to the table beside them a split second before it fell in his surprise.

“You heard me. You seem like you really enjoy…  _ cuddling _ . And I just figured we should both be on the same page about where this was going to go. No pressure, of course. I’m not looking for anything. But if you are, I wouldn’t mind... ” Crowley didn’t know how this happened, but as he felt increasingly anxious about where this conversation was going, Aziraphale seemed to relax. “Like I said, no pressure.” He finished, trying and failing to hide the tension in his voice.

“Oh, well, that’s fair enough. The answer is  _ no _ , of course. Sex is one of the many Human concepts that I must admit I’ve never quite gained a taste for.”

“Well, that’s good then. Keep going as we have been, then?”

“Yes, I do suppose that would be my preference. Now, my dear Crowley, what would you say to a nap?”

Which was how Crowley the Demon, responsible for the teaching humanity about morality and temptation and so many other things, ended up laying in bed with the Principality Aziraphle wrapped around him, their legs intertwined and his head pillowed on Crowley’s chest. The angel snored softly, and Crowley rubbed a hand along his back before falling asleep himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Title from The Mountain Goats' song "Going to Mexico."
> 
> Want to yell about Good Omens with me on tumblr? You can find me at [knightinmourning42](http://knightinmourning42.tumblr.com)


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